


Shrike

by cherie_morte



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Assassins & Hitmen, Drunk Sex, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 03:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16905315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/pseuds/cherie_morte
Summary: AU:It's been five years since Jensen recruited Jared into the life of an assassin. Jared sees this as cause for celebration.





	Shrike

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quickreaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickreaver/gifts).



> This was written for the 2018 [spn_reversebang](https://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/) for [Quickreaver](https://quickreaver.livejournal.com)'s incredible prompt. You can find her post and tell her how freaking incredible the art is [here](https://quickreaver.livejournal.com/166394.html).
> 
>  **PLEASE NOTE:** Although these topics are not discussed at length and do not take place in the story, there are mentions of past sexual abuse of minors. I did not tag for this because it is not graphic and only occurs off-sceen and in the past, but I am open to considering adding those warnings if any readers feel that I have not done due diligence in my tagging. Unless someone starts that conversation, I am going to let this note serve as the warning.
> 
> On a less serious note, this is a small, standalone slice of a larger verse I am not sure I will ever get around to writing other stories in. The ending will not produce the HEA you may be looking for in your J2 fic. If you cannot read J2 fics where they do not end up together and are going to whine about it in the comments, I think this may not be the story for you!

**NOW**

“Five years,” Jared announces in lieu of a greeting as he bursts into their apartment. “Half a decade.”

Jensen tilts his head toward the door and watches Jared begin the ritual of making himself at home: dropping his briefcase, tossing his jacket over the back of the nearest chair, loosening his tie, and unbuttoning each wrist before rolling his sleeves up—left first, right second. He’ll go for a drink next and kick his loafers off when he’s sinking into the sofa.

It’s such a set routine that a person might think he was just a regular guy getting home from a regular job. Never mind that the bag is stuffed full of cash, those shoes flecked with the blood of whatever poor sucker’s life was worth the contents of that briefcase.

“Only five years,” Jensen says, lifting the glass of whiskey he’s already halfway through in a mock toast. He tries to remember a time before someone came home like this, messy and loud and picking conversations up in the middle that Jensen just has to try to follow. It feels impossible now that he ever had a life without Jared in it, let alone that recently. “Can you believe it?”

“I think you’re being a smartass,” Jared replies, back turned to Jensen as he picks bottles off the bar, reading labels before reshelving them. He’s looking for the good stuff, and Jensen feels a little surge of pride when he picks the right one. He taught Jared that, too. “But it feels like another lifetime.”

Jensen watches Jared cross the room with the bottle of scotch he chose and two empty glasses, and Jensen just lifts an eyebrow, holding up the drink he already has.

“Not tonight,” Jared insists, taking the whiskey out of Jensen’s hand and setting it on the coffee table in front of him. “We gotta have a toast. We gotta celebrate. We’re only drinking the best tonight.”

“That’s mine,” Jensen reminds him, pointing to the bottle Jared’s just gotten open. “You can’t drink it without asking.”

“I bought it for you!” says Jared as he pours liquid amber into one glass, then the other. 

Jensen huffs a laugh, because…Jared’s such a spoiled little shit these days, and god knows Jensen’s going to let him have anything he wants. He’s the reason Jared’s like this, and they both know it. “You don’t understand how presents work, kid.”

“Don’t I?” Jared grins at that, holding a glass out to Jensen. Jensen accepts it, which only makes the dimples that much deeper. “Oh, well. I had a substandard education.”

“A toast,” Jensen says, holding his glass up. “To the beginning of your unsatisfactory schooling, five years ago today.”

“To my first kill,” Jared responds, clinking his glass against Jensen’s. “And the man responsible.”

Jensen swallows the sting of that along with the burn of the alcohol and sets his glass down, not even bothering to complain when Jared immediately begins refilling it.

“Do you ever wonder where you’d be right now if I hadn’t…?” Jensen trails off, not sure how to finish. He earned his own briefcase today, and he’s not nearly as chipper about it as Jared is.

“I try not to,” Jared tells him. He must notice Jensen’s mood is less than jovial, because he nudges Jensen’s foot with his own, getting Jensen to look up at him. His expression is warm, comforting in a way too big to put a name to. “You saved my life that night, Jensen.”

**THEN**

The kid has moves, no two ways about it. It takes Jensen six days to figure him out, and Jensen isn’t the kind of guy people typically pull one over on.

He's observant the next few times he passes that block, keeping enough of a distance to be sure the boy doesn’t know he’s paying attention. 

Scrawny though he may be, Jensen watches him fight three boys older than him, and they don’t come out of it unbloodied. He gets his ass handed to him in the end, the money he’d collected that day taken from him, but he has good instincts and knows how to use his wiry frame to gain advantage. 

Despite looking like the textbook definition of a delinquent, the boy manages to sweet-talk an old woman into letting him carry her bags across the street, and she’s grinning at every step he takes by her side, oblivious to the fact that her necklace is disappearing right into the guy’s pocket. Jensen chuckles to himself when she hands him a few bucks as they part, the boy making a show of refusing her money until she insists. He has her eating out of his hand so good that she probably won’t even suspect him when she gets home and realizes her jewelry is gone. She’ll probably think she just lost it somewhere.

And then, there’s the watch and chain he lifted off Jensen to consider. Jensen gets home to find something missing three separate times before he realizes the beggar he passed on the corner of 16th was the only common denominator on those three days. The kid was almost good enough to get away with it.

It’s more than enough for Jensen to know he’s found exactly who he needs. This boy obviously isn’t new to living on the streets and he’s hungry enough by now to get bold but quick and smart enough to pull his stunts off. He can hold his own in a fight, though he’ll need more training. Most importantly, he’s young, charming, and, as much as Jensen hates to have to notice this, under all that grime the kid is a rare kind of beauty. He’ll be the perfect lure in Jensen’s trap.

“Hey, man,” the kid says as Jensen passes. Jensen is watching for it now, so he sees how the boy is tilting his body, preparing to work his fingers into Jensen’s pocket. “Do you have some change you can spare?”

Jensen has ignored him every other time they’ve interacted, and he’s obviously counting on the same this time, too. When Jensen rounds on him instead, the boy is caught off guard, and Jensen has no problem catching his hand as it reaches for his wallet.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got something for you,” Jensen replies, smirking. The kid tries to wiggle out of his grasp and make a run for it, but the chances of that happening are beyond nonexistent. The boy is smart, fast, and strong; Jensen is smarter, faster, stronger.

He slips his free hand into his coat and pulls his gun out just enough that the boy’s eyes go round, and his attempt to escape becomes more panicked.

“I’ll scream for help,” the boy tells him.

“Will you?” Jensen asks. “Because I have a feeling your relationship with the law in this area is a little more complicated than mine. Guys like me can afford to buy cops. How many do you own?”

He stops struggling, obviously realizing nothing he’s tried so far is going to dig him out of this and taking a moment to recalculate. Like Jensen said, the boy is smart.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“We’ll start with my wallet back,” Jensen replies. “And I’d love the watch you took the other day, too.”

The ‘oh, shit’ moment on the kid’s face is pretty priceless as he realizes Jensen has figured him out for more than one day’s attempt at picking his pocket. “I pawned the watch.”

“I believe that,” Jensen says. “Wouldn’t do to keep contraband on you for long. You still have that sweet old lady from yesterday’s rubies?”

“You’ve been watching me,” the boy guesses and when Jensen nods, he repeats, “What do you want from me?”

“I want to give you a job,” Jensen tells him.

“I’m not for sale,” he replies.

Jensen stomach turns. Based on how fast the kid’s mind went there, it’s pretty clear Jensen was right about him not being new to living on the streets.

“Not yet,” Jensen says. “But you’ve gotten plenty of offers, I bet. Thought about taking them, too, huh? Gets cold this time of year and people aren’t as willing to give handouts when you lose the baby fat. Stay out on the streets much longer and you’ll end up doing what you need to do in order to stay fed.”

The boy looks Jensen up and down and rolls his eyes. “What’s a suit like you know about it?”

“More than I’d like,” Jensen says, making sure to keep his tone neutral. “Enough to know if there’s another option, you take it. Any option.”

“And let me guess, you’ve magically got that option for me.” He laughs. “What’s your angle? You want me to peddle drugs? Rob a place for you?”

“What’s your name?”

“Let me go,” the kid demands. “And tell me what you want.”

Jensen obliges him, loosening his grip on the boy and releasing the gun back into his coat pocket. He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, showing that he won’t stop the guy if he tries to run, but the boy stays where he is. Obviously, Jensen’s gotten his attention.

The kid is desperate. Jensen needs desperate.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen, what’s it to you?”

Jensen grabs the boy’s face, tilting it down so he can take a closer look, and tries to imagine it without all the dirt. Sixteen is a little old for his purposes, but this is the kind of face people make exceptions for.

“Tell me your name.”

There’s a long pause before finally the kid kicks the ground and says, “Jared.”

“Jared,” Jensen repeats, hoping he sounds kind. “How would you like to make $500,000, Jared?”

Jared shakes his long hair out of his eyes just so he can narrow them at Jensen. “How fucking stupid do I look?”

“Pretty fucking stupid,” Jensen says. “But we’ll clean you up.”

“Clean me up for what?” Jared asks. “What the hell could you possibly want me to do that’s worth half a million dollars?”

Shrugging, Jensen says, “I need you to help me kill someone.”

For a moment, Jared takes a step back, but the surprise passes quickly. He leans forward and whispers, “Who the hell _are_ you?”

Jensen smiles then, showing all his teeth. “I’m the bad guy.”

**NOW**

“Remember those assholes who used to take my money?” Jared asks, laughing as he leans his head back onto the arm of the sofa. “Remember their faces the first time they tried to pick a fight after you started training me?”

Jensen smiles, playing with the ends of the hair Jared has fanner over the couch. “You knocked all four of them out. I didn’t even get a chance to jump in and help you.”

“Fuck yeah, I whipped their asses,” Jared says. “Took their money for a change.”

Jensen laughs fondly before tipping back another drink. He should stop soon. Jared should have stopped awhile ago. He can’t hold his liquor the way you’d expect, judging from the size of him.

“Remember when they tried to come back for revenge with the rest of the gang?” Jared turns over on the couch so he can look directly at Jensen. “God, Jensen, do you remember that?”

“I was there for you that time.” Jensen thinks, probably, it’s fucked that all of Jared’s happiest memories involve violence, but he still can’t help feeling a little sentimental on this one. “Didn’t bother you after that, did they?”

“Not after you pulled that ninja shit out and took down the bosses before they even got to throw a punch.” Jared reaches out for the nearest bottle on the coffee table, then frowns when he finds it empty. They finished the good stuff an hour ago and have been working through the whiskey Jensen had been drinking earlier since. “We need more booze.”

“You sure about that, kiddo?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, grandpa,” Jared says. “I’m a grown ass adult.”

“Alright, big boy,” Jensen replies. “But get the cheap shit. Not like we’re sober enough to appreciate the taste.”

“We make way too much money to be stingy about what we’re drinking,” Jared calls back from the bar and Jensen just grunts to acknowledge his point.

He’s expecting Jared to plop back down on the couch, so when he sits on the floor by Jensen’s chair instead, he bumps Jensen’s legs with his back. “Someone died so we could afford the good stuff. We might as well drink it.”

Jared says stuff like that sometimes, unbelievably cold, like it’s a great joke, what they do. It’s hypocritical for Jensen, who brought him into this, to get uncomfortable about it, but Jared never seems the least bit conflicted. 

Jensen knows what most of the people in their line of work say about Jared. They think he doesn’t feel at all. It’s not like it’s an unusual trait among the ranks of people who kill for money, being a psychopath.

But Jared isn’t. Jensen knows that Jared isn’t, even if no one believes him. Jared doesn’t feel much, it’s true. He doesn’t get precious over the sanctity of life or whatever bullshit Jensen has such an annoying time trying to shake on nights like this. But he feels some things, and he feels those things deeply.

No one gets to see Jared like he does. They see Jared’s disarming demeanor and angel face, they see what he uses those things to accomplish, and they see that he has no remorse. None of them know what Jared endured before Jensen found him, that he grew up being looked down on by rich men like the ones he now has no problem killing.

He’s not the monster they want him to be. He’s a butcherbird, luring prey in with his sweet looks and delivering a brutal death, but there’s more there. Jensen has been lucky enough to hear the birdsong, to see the tenderness in Jared’s eyes when they’re alone. Jensen won’t ever have Jared, not completely, but he gets this much to himself, this part of Jared that he doesn’t think he could bring himself to share. If keeping it means letting the world believe the worst of Jared, then so be it.

Tonight, the song manifests through the memories Jared chooses to linger on as they knock back drink after drink. All of his remember-whens have had a common thread, and it hasn’t been killing.

Jared hiccups, so damn drunk, and leans back until his head is resting against Jensen’s thigh. He smiles then and softly says, “Remember when you saved me?”

**THEN**

“It’s been three hours,” Jared says, wiping his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. “I’ve nailed every move you’ve taught me this week. I even beat you once. We have _got_ to be done training for the day.”

“The guy you’re going after, he’s been hurting people a lot longer than you’ve been alive,” Jensen reminds him. “If something goes wrong—”

“If something goes wrong, I’m dead.” Jared shrugs. “If it goes right, I shouldn’t need any of this, he'll be dead before he gets a chance to fight back.”

“Yes, but—”

“No more stalling,” Jared says. “Tell me the damn catch already. I still haven’t even agreed to go through with it. This could all be a giant waste of time.”

Jensen sighs, nodding at Jared to follow him as he crosses the impromptu sparring area he’s turned his living room into and leans back against the dining table. “I’ve told you the basics. I’ve told you your part of the plan. What more do you need to know?”

“Oh come on.” Jared rolls his eyes. “Do I really have to spell it out? You kill people. All the time. You’re obviously better at this than I am. So why the hell do you need me to do this for you? If you’re sending me into some suicide mission to—”

“I need you because I can’t get close to this guy. I can’t catch him with his guard down.” Jensen licks his lips. “His name is Mark Pellegrino. He likes to think he’s Al Capone, but he’s a little league player in this city’s underground. Just powerful enough that his people will look the other way on what he does for fun. And what he does for fun is…” Jensen feels his lip curl with disgust. “He likes kids. I don’t mean the way Santa Claus likes kids. I mean he’s a pervert, and I don’t have an in with a man I’m too old to seduce.”

“I _told you_ I don’t fuck for—”

“I’m not asking you to fuck the sonofabitch, believe me,” Jensen says. “I chose you because you’re young enough and good-looking enough to charm your way into the guy’s bed, but old enough and ruthless enough to get out alive. The most important thing for this plan to work is not to let him undress you enough to find the gun.”

When Jared says nothing, Jensen shrugs and looks away. “Look, I get it. If you want to walk, walk. It’s an ugly situation I’m asking you to waltz into. He’s dangerous. But the only people who get past his guards are his boys. He thinks his prey is too innocent to be a threat and, until now, he’s been right. I think you could prove him wrong.”

Jared watches Jensen for a long time before he says, “This isn’t a job for you, is it? This is personal.”

Jensen seriously wishes he’d picked someone just a little less sharp, but he swallows hard and gives a quick nod.

“He mess with someone you know, or—?”

For a long time, Jensen isn’t sure what to say. He surprises even himself when he decides to go with the truth. “I knew a lot of guys like him, when I was your age.”

Jared’s face changes, understanding clear in his eyes, but he doesn’t say a word to acknowledge it. He doesn’t attempt comforting words or try any psychoanalyzing bullshit to try to make it better. This kid isn’t the warm and fuzzy kind, even if he can pass for an overgrown puppy when it suits him, and it’s quickly becoming one of Jensen’s favorite things about him.

Instead of making up some bullshit about how _it’ll all be okay_ like every other person Jensen’s ever met, Jared just steels his expression. “Let’s get back to training, then.”

**NOW**

Jensen has lost count of drinks, has no sense of how many hours he and Jared have been at this. By now they’re both sprawled on the floor, empty bottles and overturned glasses littered around them. They’re still laughing over dumb shit they’ve done, Jared an endless stream of nostalgia.

“Remember that widow?” Jared asks. “The one with the incredible tits?”

Jensen snorts. “Gonna have to be a little more specific than that. I meet a lot of widows.”

“Make a lot of widows,” Jared replies. He takes a deep breath, shifting next to Jensen. “You lucky bastard, I bet you fucked her.”

“I fuck most of ‘em,” Jensen agrees. “Occupational perk. Still don’t know which one you’re talking about, though.”

“Ugh,” Jared says. “I’m too drunk for names. The redhead, you remember.”

“I remember a lot of redheads, Jared.”

Jared moves again, and Jensen realizes that his hand has strayed to his crotch. He’s pushing down on an erection. “She had a mouth on her, too. Bet it would have felt so good.”

Jensen sits up but he angles his head down at Jared. “You want a little privacy there?”

Jared shakes his head, but he doesn’t get embarrassed when Jensen acknowledges his boner, doesn’t even stop rubbing himself. “We should’ve gotten some girls for tonight. Who throws a party without girls?”

“Thought you said you wanted it to just be you and me,” Jensen reminds him.

“Always better when it’s just you and me,” Jared agrees easily enough. “But now I’m wasted and so fucking horny, man. How long’s it been since you got laid? I feel like it’s been ages.”

“Not that long,” Jensen admits.

“Yeah, you pretty much get sex written into the contracts,” says Jared. “I need to rethink my business strategies.”

Jensen laughs, but the lightness only lasts a moment before the room falls quiet, except for the soft whines Jared’s making and the sound of his hand on the fabric of his pants.

It’s a dangerous situation, and Jensen knows what he should do. He should go to bed, leave his poor drunk friend out here to get off in peace. Jared is so wasted he doesn’t even know what he’s doing and Jensen…

He swore eight years ago he’d never fuck another man in his life. Too many scumbags got their hands on him when he was too young to have a way out, and that last one—the last one pushed him too far, made a killer out of him. Jensen hasn’t looked back, certainly hasn’t regretted the kill or giving up dick.

But Jared. Jared is exceptional in every way and he can’t make himself tear his eyes away from the mess his friend has stumbled into. The bulge in his pants is huge, growing every moment, and Jensen is literally sick with want. It’s been a long time since Jared was that scrappy kid Jensen plucked off the streets, but a part of him still needs to protect that boy. Jared was never innocent, but he never got used by some creep twice his age, passed around by grabby rich guys like a party favor. Jensen gave him an out. This was supposed to be an out.

Jared looks like he’s hurting, though, making little agonized sounds as he touches himself without enough coordination to do any good. His boy is burning up, babbling on about some hot girl they met months ago, and all Jensen can think is that he’s good enough. He could give Jared what he needs. He exists to take care of Jared, and if he just leaves Jared here, writhing in frustration, what even is the point of him?

Jensen’s drunk, too, is the problem, and his judgement is as compromised as Jared’s. Maybe Jared doesn't realize that he’s pawing at his dick while the rest of his body is pressed up against Jensen’s side, but Jensen can’t stop what happens next.

“Let me help,” he says, reaching over and brushing Jared’s hands away. He starts to work on the button of Jared’s pants. “I can help you Jared.”

“No.” Jared shakes his head. All it does is let the moonlight shining in through the window catch Jared’s face, showing the dark pink flush of his cheeks, the way his lips are parted as he huffs and puffs through his arousal. “You don’t with guys, ever.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Jensen says, the same soothing voice he uses when Jared’s gotten injured on a job and crawled home for Jensen to patch him up. “Let me take care of you. It doesn’t have to be anything. Think about that girl. Think about her mouth. Close your eyes and pretend.”

Jared’s eyes fall shut, so obedient, and he nods, head thrown back against the foot of the chair Jensen had been sitting on when this all started, exposing his long throat. Jensen gets the urge to lick it, but he resists. This isn’t about acting on what he wants. He’ll just take care of Jared.

Jensen gets Jared’s cock free easily enough and wraps his fist around it, jerking it a few times just to marvel at how rock hard it is despite how wasted Jared is. Jared makes a pained sound and tries to fuck up into Jensen’s hand, so Jensen gets right to work, before Jared loses it. He wants to give Jared something better than a rushed hand job. Jared needs more than that right now.

Going down on Jared is easier than he expects. He always thought being with a guy again would bring up the worst memories, even if it was someone he wanted, that he could never enjoy it the way he might have in another life, but the weight of Jared on his tongue makes every nightmare that happened before this feel so distant, it’s like it didn’t happen to him. Some other poor bastard. Some other lifetime. This one only has Jared in it.

It’s like riding a bike, apparently, and despite all the years he’s spent hating this, trying to forget he ever did it, he’s still good. Jensen still remembers how to shift his jaw to take as much in as possible, and Jared starts trembling under him as Jensen begins to suck him, broken cries falling from his lips.

Jared’s hand resumes it’s petting from before, but now instead of palming at his dick, he buries his fingers in Jensen’s hair, fingers massaging Jensen’s scalp as he encourages Jensen to choke on him.

“Fuck,” he curses. “Fuck, so good. You’re so good.”

The praise aches a bit, knowing it’s some redhead Jared is thinking of, but Jensen doesn’t let himself get hung up on that. Jared feels good. He’s making Jared feel good, and that’s what really matters.

“Take me so good, baby,” Jared says, slurring his words a little, a mix of arousal and alcohol making it hard to speak. “Best fucking mouth I’ve ever had. _Jesus_.”

Jensen pulls off for a moment, licking at Jared’s balls and taking them into his mouth, sucking at them just to see what it does to Jared. Jared moans beautifully, a song Jensen could listen to on a loop for the rest of his life and never get tired of but which he knows he’ll never hear again after this.

Desperate to bask in it while he can, Jensen takes Jared’s cock into his mouth again and hollows his cheeks, letting Jared push inch after inch into him until his eyes are leaking tears and there’s spit all down his chin.

“So close,” Jared warns him, but then his fingers tighten in Jensen’s hair. “Can you swallow it for me? Bet you can. That’d be so hot. God, I know you’re gonna love the taste of me.”

Jared always asks for too much. And Jensen, pathetic, slavishly devoted Jensen, nothing’s ever made him happier than knowing he can give Jared this.

When Jared comes, Jensen keeps his dick so far down his throat it’s not even a choice whether to swallow or not. There’s so much jizz that even after working his throat to take the first few spurts, he’s still able to pull away and nurse the last few drops from the head of Jared’s cock, locking eyes with Jared as he does it.

It’s a surprise when Jared doesn’t look away. When the word that breaks from Jared’s lips is a needy “ _Jensen_.”

“I’ve got you,” Jensen promises. He moves up then, completely drunk, more on the moment than anything else, and he forgets himself. This was only supposed to be for Jared. But he takes advantage of how lost Jared is in his climax and presses his swollen mouth to Jared’s wet, pink lips.

Jared lets it happen, like he’s let the rest of it happen. He meets Jensen’s tongue with his own when Jensen licks his way into the kiss, and he chases the taste of his own come even though there’s none left for him. Greedy Jensen swallowed it all and loved every drop of it.

Jensen cups Jared’s cheek with one hand, and then he just…kisses him. For a long time, they make out and it feels simple. Right, even.

Then Jared reaches out, hand tracing the hard line of Jensen’s cock in his pants and when that makes Jensen jump back, Jared says, “Hey, let me at least return the favor.”

That touch sobers Jensen, and reality comes crashing back. This was supposed to be for Jared, and Jensen let it go too far. He took too much. It wasn’t ever supposed to be like this with Jared.

“No," he says, pushing Jared’s hand away. “No, I was just doing you a favor. You don’t have to—I mean, I don’t need that.”

“Right,” Jared says. “Right, you don’t want. Sorry. I’m sorry, Jensen. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jensen says, laughing softly as he rests his face on Jared’s shoulder and moves slowly, tucking Jared’s soft cock away and closing his pants. “Just wanted to take care of you. Took care of you, didn’t I?”

“You always do,” Jared replies. His voice is soft, sleepy, and Jensen isn’t surprised when he yawns a moment later.

“Goodnight, Jared,” Jensen says. “Happy anniversary.”

Jared doesn’t reply. Jensen doesn’t have to check if he’s already drifted off to sleep. He knows the patterns of Jared’s breathing better than he knows his own heartbeat.

“You’re the one that saved me,” Jensen whispers, lightly reaching up to touch Jared’s face. It doesn’t wake him, so Jensen indulges himself for a few minutes before letting his head drop back to Jared’s shoulder. “You saved me.”

**THEN**

The job isn’t complicated. Jensen doesn’t want a whole lot of moving parts when he’s sent a kid in as bait.

Jared is his Trojan horse. As long as he gets a moment unsupervised to prop the back door open, Jensen will be able to slip in shortly after Pellegrino retires to his room, taking Jared with him.

And when Jensen tries it, the door gives easily. He picked the right weapon for the job; Jared doesn’t let him down.

There are four guards, well trained but too used to quiet nights. There’re all distracted, easy for Jensen to get the drop on them. The first two are dead before they know they’re under attack. The other two hear the silencer and the bodies dropping, and they start shooting. One is messy, firing off shots as fast as he can, not bothering to aim or try to locate Jensen. His attempts to hit Jensen just end up selling him out, making it easy for Jensen to tell where he’s shooting from while taking cover, so he only has to dodge out for a moment to catch the guy square between the eyes.

The last one is a fighter. He keeps Jensen engaged for at least five minutes, each of them taking turns firing off shots until finally, _finally_ Jensen hits his shoulder and he drops his gun in surprise, clutching at the wound and crying out.

In seconds, Jensen is across the room, kicking the gun away from the guy and knocking him out. He’ll be back to finish this one off. There’s no mercy in Jensen’s line of work. Witnesses mean vendettas. But right now, Jensen has more important things to attend to than killing the last of the guards.

He hasn’t heard a single gunshot from the bedroom through the double doors he’s standing by, and, sure, Jared could have shot his mark while the rest of the bullets were flying, but the opposite could have happened just as easily, the boss hearing the chaos outside and figuring out what Jared is really there for. Or worse, he could have gotten started on Jared. Jensen might have sent him to a fate much worse than a quick death.

Jensen shoots the locks off the door and kicks it in, surprised by how intense his relief is when he sees Jared inside, standing on two legs. In one piece. Mostly dressed.

It’s pretty evident from the rest of the scene that things had not gone exactly according to plan. There are obvious signs of a struggle and Jared’s gun is all the way across the room, kicked out of reach during a fight. Jared’s chest and hands are bathed in blood, and he has what looks like a letter opener clutched in his fist.

On his knees in front of Jared, holding Jared’s leg with one hand to keep himself up, the other covering a wound on his neck, is Mark Pellegrino. Jared didn’t quite get a killing angle when he stabbed the guy's neck, but it’s obvious the blade went in deep enough that Pellegrino isn’t getting up anytime soon.

They both look to the door when they hear it break open, waiting to find out whose backup just arrived. Pellegrino’s expression is obviously hopeful—he’s expecting to see one of his guards—and the confusion that it shifts to when he sees Jensen instead is the sweetest damn victory Jensen has ever known.

“You,” Pellegrino says.

“Me,” Jensen confirms, raising his gun, preparing to take the shot.

Before he gets the chance, Jared strikes. He stabs the blade through Pellegrino’s neck enough times to be sure one of them hits an artery, and there’s none of the hesitation or trauma Jensen expects from a first kill, especially one so messy. It’s nothing at all like Jensen’s first. Jared looks like he’s _enjoying_ it.

“I think you made your point,” Jensen says, crossing the room and wrapping his hand around Jared’s. “It’s done, Jared. You did it. It’s done.”

Jared calms immediately once Jensen is near him, and he lets Jensen take his weapon from him as if he’s coming out of a trance. He shakes his head as Pellegrino’s lifeless body falls to the floor, landing partially on his feet.

“He found the gun," Jared explains. He licks his lips, looking down at himself, and then frowns. “I made a mess. You told me not to make a mess and I made one. He fought back, Jensen. I thought at one point…”

“It’s okay, Jared,” Jensen tells him, wrapping a protective arm around the kid. “You’re okay. You did so good. You fought him and you won. I’m so proud of you.”

“I did it like you taught me,” Jared tells him, grinning as he looks down at the body. “I would have been a goner if I hadn’t had all that training. You were right.”

He wouldn’t have been in the situation to begin with if it hadn’t been for Jensen, but instead of pointing that out, he claps a hand on Jared’s shoulder.

“We have to get out of here pretty fast. If we want our fall guy to look guilty, we need to be gone before he finds the bodies.”

Jared looks around at his mess again, nodding. “What are we gonna do about—?” He gestures around the room.

“I’ll take care of this. I’ve got it all worked out, okay? You did your part. That’s it. You’re done. You’re gonna have enough money to start a new life, and you won’t ever have to think about this again.”

“He said I was older than he prefers, but that I was a special case.” Jared’s face changes to one of revulsion, and he looks down, kicking the corpse off his feet. “How much younger than me does it get?”

 _Much younger_ , Jensen thinks, but he turns Jared away, sick with guilt at what he brought into this boy's life. “He’s not hurting anyone ever again. You did that.”

“I liked it,” Jared admits. “Does that make me bad?”

Jensen laughs. “Well, kid, it doesn’t make you good.”

Jared smiles at that before dodging his eyes out to the hallway. “Did you get all the guards?”

“Oh, fuck. I forgot.” Jensen immediately walks out of the room and back to the last guard, who is still knocked out. That’s a mercy. Makes it easier to plant a bullet in his brain. Jensen always hates it when the person’s looking back at him.

A few hours later, once the mess is handled, the cops greased, and Pelligrino’s righthand man packed into a squad car to pay for Jensen’s crime, he goes home.

The kid is waiting for him, sitting hunched over on the couch. He’s changed into clean clothes, and Jensen trusts his competence enough to be sure Jared disposed of his bloodstained outfit exactly as he was directed to do.

Jensen has gotten used to seeing him here like this, watching those adult cartoons he loves so much, and the sight makes Jensen’s heart twinge a little, even though Jared is sitting in quiet this time instead. It’s been weirdly nice, sharing his space, giving Jared a place to stay these last few weeks as they’ve prepared for the job. It’s gonna be fucking weird waking up tomorrow to quiet instead of the TV blasting in the living room. But it’ll be nice, too, thinking of Jared off on some better adventure, maybe going to college or some shit with the money Jensen drops at his feet as he walks through the door. He didn’t expect to get so fond of the kid.

“What’s this?” Jared asks, looking down at the briefcase.

“What do you think it is?” Jensen replies. “$500,000, as promised. Enough for you to get a good place to stay, start thinking about your future, put some aside for—”

“I don’t want it,” Jared says.

Jensen laughs. “You don’t want $500,000?”

“I don’t want that life you were describing,” Jared clarifies. “Not after you’ve shown me that I could have this life.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ve never felt good at anything,” Jared tells him. “I’ve never thought I could earn something for myself. This. This is something I can do. That not everyone can do.”

“It won’t always be like this, Jared,” Jensen says. “Not a lot of people get hits put out on them without choosing to get mixed up in some pretty messy shit, but they aren’t all like Pellegrino. They don’t all deserve to die. Tonight it felt good, right. It won’t always.”

“I get that.” Jared shrugs. “I know I’m young, but I’m not a baby. And I’m not an idiot. I get that it’s fucked up. But you deal with it. You could teach me.”

“I think I’ve taught you enough,” Jensen insists. “Kid, I’m offering you a good life. A safe life. Take the money and run.”

Jared grins, looking so much like the sweet little boy he won’t ever be again, not after what he did today. “I don’t want that life. I want to be like you.”

**NOW**

Jensen awakes because there’s something shifting under him. He groans before he’s even properly conscious, not sure where he is or why he’s dying, but pretty fucking sure he’s dying.

“Regrets,” says a voice too close to him and too loud, but at least what it’s saying makes sense. “I have regrets.”

It’s Jared, Jensen knows that. It takes a few more seconds to catch up to where he is (the fucking floor, with his face resting on Jared’s shoulder) and why (Jared wanted a party and Jared gets what Jared wants), but as soon as he takes a deep breath and lets the night flood back to him, he jerks away.

“Fuck,” he says, studying Jared’s face, searching for signs that Jared hates him now. He’s about to apologize, but Jared’s looking at him with the same warmness as ever, though a little confused.

“What’s wrong?” Jared asks. “Is it your back? I’ve got a cramp I’m never going to be able to sleep off.”

“Whose idea was it to sit on the floor?” Jensen replies.

“I don’t know,” Jared admits. He gives Jensen a long glance and then smiles stupidly. “Mine, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, Jared,” Jensen says, wishing his laugh was a little quieter. He lifts his fingers to his temple and whispers, “All of this is your fault.”

“I suck.” Jared looks around at the bottles they drained the night before and nods approvingly. “We did some real work here, though. I'm proud of us.”

“Yeah, I’ll say.” Jensen licks his lips, starting to feel a tiny spark of hope in his chest. Jared isn’t mad. He’s not disgusted that Jensen took advantage of him. Maybe…maybe he wanted it. Maybe—

“Did we have fun at least?” Jared asks.

Jensen wonders if Jared can see his heart breaking in his face, but he manages to keep himself together enough to ask. “You don’t remember?”

“Hardly anything.” Jared shakes his head. “I remember how smooth the first bottle was. That’s about it.”

That explains the lack of anger. Jensen decides it’s relief he should feel, not disappointment. He dodged a bullet.

“It was a ton of fun,” Jensen tells him. “There were strippers. I hired a DJ. We had a shooting contest at one point. Obviously I won.”

“You’re so full of shit, Jensen,” Jared says.

“Fine, don’t believe me.” Jensen sits up. “Enjoy your hangover, man. I’m gonna take one of the good painkillers and check out until I feel like a human again.”

“You know what’s crazy?” Jared asks. “I don’t actually feel that bad. I mean. My head hurts. I could definitely go for less sunlight. But the rest of my body…I feel kind of good.”

“You’ve been stressed lately,” says Jensen with a shrug. “Probably just needed to unwind.”

“Right,” Jared agrees. He waits a long moment, then asks, “So you remember everything?”

“Not, uh, not all of it,” Jensen lies. “It gets fuzzy.”

Jared nods. Jensen isn’t sure how to read the expression that passes over his face, but it’s gone pretty quick anyway, replaced with one of those charming smiles Jared uses to such devastating effect. “Thanks for celebrating with me, Jensen. And for…everything.”

Jensen returns the smile and watches Jared rise to his feet, making his way across the apartment to his room. He lets his head drop back against the chair behind him, trying to collect his thoughts.

Jared thanked him. Thanked him, as if Jensen is still the person who rescued him from the exact violation Jensen was too drunk and too desperate to stop himself from committing. He feels the same conflict he does after a job, the overwhelming guilt sated by the extravagance of the payment: the stretch of Jared's cock on his jaw, the passion of that kiss, the wrecked way Jared said his name when he came. Invaluable treasures Jensen will cherish forever, and they didn’t even cost him anything. Jared doesn’t remember.

It’s not the first time Jensen gets away with murder.


End file.
